Rebirth
by Jander Panell
Summary: Ritsuka's father knows he's weak and pathetic. But when he meets Ritsu-sensei, will it be his chance to become reborn as a better, stronger man, or just another step on his descent to hell? Ritsu/Ritsuka's father


**Rebirth**

_Chapter One: Escaping and Meeting_

Summary: Ritsuka's father knows he's weak and pathetic. But when he meets Ritsu-sensei, will it be his chance to become reborn as a better, stronger man, or just another step on his descent to hell? Ritsu/Ritsuka's father

Warnings: Slash (obviously...), occasional bad language, suggestive themes, etc. etc. I mean, it's Loveless, so you expect this kind of thing. The greatest warning would be that this is a story that obviously doesn't focus that much on the main characters.

Notes: I wrote this a long time ago, but I'm only putting it up now. I can't remember why I didn't put it up sooner, since it'd be nice to offset the overwhelming amount of Ritsuka/Soubi fanfiction out there. Not that there's anything wrong with that pairing, but I'm getting tired at how overdone it is. There are a plethora of other potential pairings out there...even weird ones like this.

Anyway, as you can see, this is a story focusing on Ritsuka's father--whom I consider one of the most interesting characters in the fandom yet possibly the most underused. Which I don't get because he's so...fascinating. I've long wanted to get in his head and develop him more as a character ('cause you honestly can't say he's had much development in the actual series), and the idea of him meeting Ritsu (my favorite character) was just too awesome a situation to pass over, so out of that this story was born.

I probably won't update this that often as I'm busy with both school and serious writing. Nonetheless, I'll try to update when I can. Enjoy!

* * *

The world of home is one of dark confusion.

* * *

"You're a pathetic coward."

He sits, silent, staring at the blank expanse of the wall. He hears her words but they don't exactly register. They don't hurt, because he knows they are true.

"You're so weak. Why did I marry you?"

He wonders that too sometimes. She had been the most popular girl in school; he had been just an average boy with middling grades and few friends. What had led her to marry him? What had led him to sire two children with her?

"It's a good thing Seimei is coming back."

And now she's crazy. She now believes that their elder son is returning, their elder son who is dead, who has been dead for almost a year. Every time he's seen her recently, which, now that he thinks about it, has not been often, she tells him that Seimei will be coming back, will rescue her, will take charge of the household again.

It's ridiculous, and he knows it. Just another aspect of her mental condition...

Seimei is dead.

He tells this to her, his voice weak and quavering from lack of use. He has never used his voice much, though. To him, silence was always preferable, was always _easier, _than speaking. To speak is dangerous--you expose your thoughts via words. It is better to keep your thoughts locked up, and secret, than spill them out.

"Misaki, Seimei's dead...he's gone."

"No! He's coming back--he _told _me--Seimei will come back! Seimei will save me! Seimei will take me away from _you!" _

She is angry now, standing up, shrieking at him, as if she wants nothing more than to slap him with the force of her words. He merely continues to sit and stare at the wall. He's taken the brunt of her anger so many times, received her harsh words so often, that nothing she says bothers him anymore. He can almost tune it out, like background noise, like static.

"You don't care about Seimei! You're _glad _he's dead!" Her tone is accusing, suffused with indignant anger. Her anger does not bother him, however. Nothing she does bothers him anymore.

Is he _glad _that Seimei is dead? He doesn't know. The truth is that he really feels nothing, that he felt nothing at all when Seimei died. He knew, technically, that Seimei was his child, but other than that, Seimei had been essentially a stranger to him. He had hardly ever seen his son, both of his sons. They were his children, but they could have been somebody else's children for all he thought about them.

"You don't care about Ritsuka either, or else you'd try to stop me!" she continues to shriek, her pitch rising, becoming more hysterical with each passing instant. This time, he shifts his glance to the window, hoping that the neighbors don't hear. If the neighbors hear, there will be questions, which will no doubt surface at his job tomorrow, and then the promotion he so covets will never happen...

"Why don't you _stop _me?" she tirades. "You just sit there--like the weakling you are--you're so _pathetic--"_

He agrees with everything she says. He is weak, he is pathetic, he just sits there when she abuses his son. But what can he do? Against her rage, her furious words, his own pitiful stammerings are ineffectual. There was a time when he _did _try to stop her, but nothing he said or did ever worked. He was never surprised. She had always been dominant in their relationship, making all the decisions, leading him, while he followed mindlessly.

He finds it safest this way. He doesn't have to think, or dare, or try.

"You finally come home, in the middle of the night, after how many days?" she screams, raging at him. "What, you didn't want Ritsuka to be awake to see what a pathetic excuse for a human being you are? I bet he doesn't even know he _has _a father anymore!"

He never did have a father, though, and neither did Seimei. From the beginning, the two boys belonged not to their father, but to their mother. She had named them, had cared for them, while he worked and withdrew from his life at home. Birthdays, graduations, school events had all been attended by the mother, but not the father. He was too busy burying himself in his work, hoping that the problems at home would resolve themselves, eventually...

"Get out! _Get out!" _she screams, and before he realizes what's happening, she has thrown his coat and suitcase straight at him. He stumbles, awkwardly catching the suitcase, the coat slipping to the floor before he can pick it up. He stares numbly and confusedly, not realizing what is going on.

"That's right! _Leave! _You're so useless anyway, so why don't you just go? Don't come around here--don't show your face to me or Ritsuka--when Seimei comes back, you'd _better _be gone for good! You never existed to them anyway, Ritsuka and Seimei, and you don't exist to me, you pathetic, miserable _coward!"_

She wants him to leave, he realizes. And again, he realizes he feels nothing at this suggestion. No sadness at leaving his family, his house, behind. It isn't _really _his family, his house, anyway. It's Misaki's family, Misaki's house. They always belonged to her. He's just an outsider in her world--good for nothing except for giving her two sons, her beloved Seimei and Ritsuka, and a paycheck. Her dream world doesn't include _him._

What does his dream world include? He doesn't know. He never had any dreams, really. But if his wife wants him to leave so she can live her dream, then that's fine by him. He picks up the suitcase, pulls on the coat, slips out of the door. Perhaps, if he's quick, he can catch the last train out, and hit the bars with the other salarymen, and drink away his apathy, his memory, at least until morning comes.

* * *

The world of the office is one of white blankness.

* * *

"Aoyagi, we need to talk."

He stands before his boss, but does not look at the man--he fixes his eyes on the wall. Unlike the blank wall at home, this wall is plastered with framed certificates and awards. Nonetheless, the situation feels all too familiar. Once more, he is locked in a position where he can't do anything, where he can only meekly follow.

"This is about your recent performance on the job," explains the boss, slowly, hesitantly.

Recent performance? He had worked hard, hadn't he? To escape from his wife and son, from the torments of his home, he had been spending longer hours on the job, deciding to devote his heart and soul to getting a promotion. It had been a foolish hope of his, that a promotion would end all of the troubles at him.

But it doesn't matter what _he _does. Nothing _he _does has any effect on the home that is no longer his. Misaki is right--his son probably doesn't even remember having a father anymore.

"I don't want to say this, because you've been around for almost ten years," the boss is saying, chomping on a cigar but not lighting it. "But recently...your performance has been unsatisfactory."

Has it? He's worked longer, harder, than everyone else...but now that he thinks about it, he can't remember even _doing _anything in those extra hours. All he remembers from work is sitting in front of a computer screen, sometimes sleeping, but mostly staring blankly. He can't remember what he does at work anymore. It's all a blur.

"You've always worked harder and put in more hours than everyone else, but lately, you're starting to slip," explains the boss. With a pang, Ritsuka's father realizes he does not even know his own boss's name. He doesn't know the names of anyone he works with. They, like everyone else, seem to have slipped out of his mind, leaving behind an empty numbness.

"It's starting to hurt your work, Aoyagi. It's starting to hurt _our _work. Do you understand? The corporation's success depends on the efforts of _everyone _in it. If one starts slacking off, the rest of the corporation feels it. We're a business. We have to stay ahead, and that means having a dedicated workforce. We can't afford for even one to fall behind, or we lose this race. Understand?"

He realizes then that the boss wants an answer. He jerks his head in a nod and replies, his barely-used voice cracking slightly, "Yes, sir."

"If you continue like this, Aoyagi," the boss says, drumming his fingers on the desk, "we may have to...let go of you."

_Let go..._they are considering firing him, the corporation. A part of him, a small part of him that still feels proper emotion, is indignant. _Haven't I worked harder than anyone else? Haven't I been with them for the longest time? How could they do this to me? They should be _promoting _me, not _firing _me!_

Most of him just feels like he usually does. He feels nothing.

"We don't want that, of course. It would be a great loss to the corporation," explains the boss, still chewing his cigar. His words are hollow, empty, insincere, and they are just as useless as Misaki's. Words mean nothing. "You must start applying yourself again, Aoyagi."

"I'll try, sir," he says, and he is the one being insincere, now. He bows to the boss and leaves, heading back to his own cubicle, where he will spend the rest of the day staring blankly at the computer screen. The feeling part of him has sunk low with disappointment. He had hoped that staying excessively on the job would blissfully free him from all the problems of the outside world, but that was pure naivete. The office simply brought a whole new set of problems. He is to be fired soon.

What is there to do? Wait until they finally let go of him...or let go of _them _first? He had long thought of the office as a blissful sanctuary from home, from Misaki, from Ritsuka and Seimei and the house that he didn't own, but now everything, the cubicles, the coworkers, all seem as hostile as Misaki was. Work is no longer a sanctuary.

He leaves early, that day. He heads to the hotel that he's checked in (since he can no longer return to Misaki's home) and packs up everything he owns into one suitcase. He pulls on his coat and leaves for the train station, where he buys a ticket to the soonest-arriving train, not caring where it will take him. Wherever it goes, though, it must be better than his former world, the world where he lived in a strange house and worked in a hostile corporation.

He feels like a new man.

* * *

The world outside is one of excitement and color.

And danger.

* * *

"Hey, this _is _your stop, right, old guy?"

He groans and lifts his head from the hard seat, blinking the grogginess out of his eyes. The voice speaks again, a loud thunderclap beside his ear.

"There aren't any more stops after this, so I guess this is where you're going, eh, old man?" The speaker is a grubby-looking teenage boy who still has his ears. He is the only other person in the car.

"Yes...thank you..." he stammers, once more startled by how weak his voice sounds. Why should he be surprised? For one who doesn't use his voice often, how could he ever sound strong? He stumbles out of the train door, on to the station platform.

It's night and it's late, since he decided to ride the train to the very last stop. The only people in the station are its weary-looking night crew and a few stragglers wandering the platform. The teenager waves good-bye and skips off. He watches the teenager enviously, remembering a time when he was that innocent and carefree, or was he? His only memories of being that age are of being bullied by the bigger, more athletic, more popular boys in school.

The empty station makes him somewhat nervous. He has no idea what neighborhood he is in, but it doesn't seem to be a good one, as the station is in a state of disrepair. He can see traces of graffiti on the walls, and the few people still hanging around have a rough, suspcious look around them. He makes sure to avoid them as he heads for the station exit.

Now he somewhat misses the grubby teenager's presence Somehow, illogically, he feels unsafe without a friendly soul nearby, and he realizes he doesn't know where anything is, here. Willing these silly thoughts out of his head, takes a deep breath and walks over to a tired-looking porter who is smoking a cigarette.

"Ex...excuse me," he says to the porter, who doesn't look up. He worries--is his voice that weak? Is it so pathetic that it can't be heard even when he is standing within three feet of the person he's speaking to, in an empty station, to boot? "Um...excuse me...?"

The porter still doesn't reply. He takes out another cigarette and lights it.

"Um..." says Ritsuka's father, trying again. "Excuse me...I'm looking for a...a hotel. Are there any hotels nearby?"

He is quite surprised by how much he's talking. He usually doesn't say this much even in a day. He is a man of silence, and now he knows why, when he hears his voice tremble and squeak so pathetically. No wonder Misaki thinks he's weak--he _is._

"Screw off," is the porter's rude reply, and he walks away.

"W...wait..." the man stammers after the porter, but the porter is long gone. He can't believe this--now he is alone in a train station in a bad neighborhood, where the staff is rude and the other customers look unsavory. Part of him just wants to escape...

_Don't be a fool, _he tells himself resolutely. _How much escaping can you do? You've already escaped from that house, that job. Where else can you escape to?_

He gulps and wipes his forehead. He knows he's pathetic and a coward, but how hard is it to ask for directions? He looks around for other staff members, but sees none around except for two burly janitors, and somehow he doesn't think they know where any good hotels are. His only option is to head to the exit...maybe there's someone there...

There are people huddled near the the train station exit, but they look especially unsavory, wearing sunglasses and beards and tattoos. There is simply no way to leave the train station without passing by them.

_It's all right, _he tells himself. _Stand tall, stay strong. You can do it._

Even to him, these thoughts, sound false and insincere. Who is he fooling? He isn't man enough to even deal with his own wife. How could he possibly deal with a bunch of gangsters? He decides maybe he should stay the night at the station (the far opposite end, of course), and wait for morning to leave, once these unsavory looking people are gone. That, to him, sounds like a much better plan than trying to deal with it.

He's running away again, and he knows this. It's the thing he's best at, hiding, running, escaping. It's so much easier than _doing. _And when there is no where else left to run, he can always retreat within, just like he does when Misaki shouts, when she abuses her son...

"Well, well, what do we have here?"

He jerks out of his thoughts and spins around, terrified. Three of the gangsters have stood up. The one that spoke is a smirking, tough-looking woman, and the other two are burly men cracking their knuckles. Slowly he begins to back off, holding his suitcase before him like a shield, but he knows it's a pathetic defense.

"Hey, you don't look like you come from these parts," continues the woman, her smirk widening. To his terror, she is holding a knife in one hand. "What've you got in that suitcase? Money?"

He wills himself to speak in his defense--he's just got clothes and other essentials in there--but the words stick in his throat. He knows they will be useless, because he knows the cold, hard, calculating look in the gangsters' eyes, a look that says they will not be swayed by anything. He's seen that look in Misaki's eyes too many times to count.

"Well, don't be so selfish, old man, hand it over," snarls the woman, brandishing her knife. Her victim continues to back off, but he doesn't see a sleeping man lying in his way--and with a cry he stumbles and falls backward over the sleeping man, but he never looses his grip on the suitcase...

And then, to his terror, they are all over him--the two burly men are grabbing him, shoving him, tearing at his coat and pockets, and he protests, his voice the loudest it's ever been in ages. "Stop! _Please! _I don't have--get off--please--"

But he knows from experience that words are useless, and he is proven correct. The muggers don't listen to his earnest entreaties, but continue to rip at his coat, desperately searching for money or anything else he has hidden in there, and when he tries to struggle, they punch him, hard, in the face, in the stomach, and he gasps and groans and heaves in pain. It's a losing battle and he knows it, and he has no idea why he is so desperate, anyway, but still he struggles, and still he gets beaten, and can do nothing but watch as the woman rips open the briefcase, digging through the shirts and ties, searching eagerly for something to sell.

The muggers shove him to the ground, and his head cracks hard against the floor, sending stars streaking in his vision. They comb his pockets even more ferociously, and one of them triumphantly yanks out his wallet. He gasps and tries to fight them off, but there are two of them, and they are much stronger than him, and he is pinned hard. He can only watch as the mugger brandishes the wallet at his companions, who run over to grab it, roughly finger it...the wallet that contains his money, his credit cards, everything...without it, he knows he can't survive, but he can't fight back...

He is weak.

"Thanks for the presents, old guy," grins the woman, taking the wallet and suitcase and coat. The man they've just mugged lies there, bruised and disheveled, too weak to pick himself off the floor, hating himself for his weakness. Yes, for the first time, he hates his inability to fight, how pathetic he is. Previously, he just accepted it, but now, mere acceptance is not enough.

He is weak, and he hates that.

The muggers walk off, and as they do, dimly he sees his hopes vanish...his ridiculous hopes. What, did he think running away would rid him of his problems? His wife, his boss, random muggers...problems are everywhere in the world. Now he is alone and penniless, and he sees the folly of his ways. Running is foolish. He should return home...but he has no money for a ticket.

"Excuse me, but I don't believe those are _yours, _are they?" says a voice, a deep, cold, voice. A voice of one who is in power, and command, and knows it--and enjoys it. A voice completely unlike his own weak, pathetic one.

Though he can't see the owner of the voice, something in him intrinsically warms towards whoever it is--after all, they are brave enough to confront the muggers. Brave and forward, not like him, meek, and always hiding, always running.

"Huh? Who're you talking to, us?" snarls the woman.

"Yes, I believe I am, unless you're deaf," that wonderfully strong voice says again, and its owner steps forward out of the shadows. His heart stops in his throat--the man who speaks is completely unlike any he's ever seen before. He is exceptionally tall and his hair is a strange shade of gray. His eyes are narrowed and purposeful behind glasses that serve to enhance his imposing image, not detract from it. And the way he holds himself is so unusual, so different from any man that Ritsuka's father had ever seen before. His posture is calm, but also powerful, with a sort of languid self-assurance to it as well. This man knows he is in charge, and he relishes every second of it.

The poor mugged man's heart begins to hammer a painful staccatto against his ribcage. He can't imagine this strange powerful man losing to these mere gang-bangers. In the presence of this man, the muggers look weak and unsure, little lost dolls. And once more, he curses allowing himself to be mugged by _them, _if they really are this weak...that just shows how weak _he _is.

"I can hear perfectly well, you old geezer," growls the woman, raising her knife. The bespectacled man raises an eyebrow.

"Oh? You think your little toys can do anything against me? Silly brats. Go home," snaps the man, and his voise resonates with so much power that it almost causes the other man, the weak man, Ritsuka's father, to obey, to hop on the train and go home to the wife and child who don't need him. Such is the force in the gray-haired man's voice.

"You think you're the police or something?" shrieks the woman, but even she is affected by this man's forceful words, by his confident manner. And to think that he had thought words were useless...and here comes this man, confronting armed muggers with only his words, and he is _winning..._

_I wish I were that sort of man, _he thinks longingly, but he knows his hopes are pathetic.

"No, and I don't think you would like the police to be involved, would you?" says the man, walking every closer to the woman. Surprisingly, she is lowering her knife, lower and lower, with each graceful step the powerful man takes in her direction...

"Ungh...argh...let's go! C'mon, you two!" she shouts at her startled comrades. They glance back and forth at the loot in their hands.

"Oh, about that," says the man, pushing up his glasses, a dangerous light in his eyes. "I believe those belong to this man over here, don't they? I would give them back, if I were you."

"Oh...um...all right..._here!" _cries the female mugger, and she hurls the wallet like she would lob a rock. It lands at the mysterious man's feet, and he picks it up with a careful, practiced disinterest, holding it between his thumb and forefinger as if it's something dirty, contaminated. He looks up from the wallet, watching the muggers, his expression expectant. They exchange nervous glances, and then, without speaking another word, turn around and dash off, fleeing like doves from a gunshot.

"Your wallet," says the mysterious man, after every last mugger is gone. He walks over to Ritsuka's father, and sets the wallet, with an infinite delicacy, down a the pale man's feet.

"Th-thank you..." stammers Ritsuka's father, picking up his wallet and pulling himself to his feet. He trembles insanely, and curses himself. He knows how weak he looks in front of this powerful man, who is now regarding him with a slightly amused look.

"You should take better care of yourself," admonishes the man, and Ritsuka's father hangs his head, knowing that the gray-haired stranger is right. He hasn't been taking care of himself; he's been letting himself slip. When...since when...?

"Wh...what's your name?" he manages to squeak out, aware of how pitiful and pathetic his voice must sound in comparison to the other's rich baritone. But still, he must know...he must thank his savior...

The man paused about, as if debating whether to answer. "You can call me Ritsu," he finally says. "And you?"

The man's head spins. For a brief moment, he fears he's forgotten his name--no one calls him by his name, after all. At work he is "Aoyagi", at home he is "that pathetic man", and to outsiders he is apparently "old guy." He feels foolish--he _does _have a name, and he knows it, but his head is swimming from slamming against the floor, and his thoughts are disorganized.

Finally, he manages to piece himself together, remembers what to say. "I'm...I'm Aoyagi. Aoyagi Toji."

Ritsu's eyes widen, imperceptibly, at hearing Toji's name. Toji does not notice, however, because he's too busy picking up his things, still murmuring thanks to Ritsu under his breath.

"Aoyagi...Toji..." muses Ritsu. "Why don't you come with me, for the time being?"

* * *

_TBC_

Dun dun! And the first meeting has occurred, and Ritsuka's dad has a name. I don't think he has one in canon, so I can most certainly invent one, can't I? Feel free to contradict me if I'm wrong, though. You'll know why I named him what I did if you read Loveless volume 5...well, I think it's volume 5. I'm kind of forgetting.

Be sure to review, and I'll try to continue this ASAP.

Loads of love from Jander Panell.


End file.
